


Not This

by CelticKnot



Series: Mass Effect Fictober 2019 [28]
Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types
Genre: Afterlife, F/M, Fictober 2019, Grief/Mourning, MEFFictober2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 23:49:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21217076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelticKnot/pseuds/CelticKnot
Summary: MEFFictober Prompt: Beyond the Veil. When she arrives across the Sea, Irikah begs Kalahira for one last look at her family.





	Not This

She warned me. The Goddess warned me, and I, in my naïveté—or perhaps arrogance—didn't listen.

When I first washed up on Kalahira's shore, all I could think about was you. You, and Kolyat, and how my death would affect you both. But I couldn’t see you. The dead have no contact with the living.

I couldn't, or wouldn't, accept that. I wandered the Shore for what might have been a day, or a lifetime, praying all the while for just a glimpse of the other side. Of you. But even here, the Gods do not always immediately answer our prayers. Even here, They work mysteriously.

As I walked, I encountered a child. A young girl of perhaps seven, playing alone in the sand. I must admit to being momentarily alarmed, and spent an embarrassing amount of time looking around for her parents before I remembered where we were, and that nothing could harm her here. The realization that this child was already dead struck me like a blow, leaving me breathless.

She waved at me. “Hello,” she said brightly. “I’m Deora. Who were you?”

Her use of the past tense took me by surprise. “M-my name is Irikah,” I stammered, and sat down next to her. I was suddenly exhausted, weary to my very bones—if a spirit, or a soul, a shade, whatever I am now, can be said to have bones.

Deora studied me with wide, serious eyes, eyes that looked far too old for her youthful face. “You’re new here,” she said.

“I don’t know how long I’ve been here,” I confessed. “It is difficult to follow the passage of time.”

But Deora waved off my struggle. “Time means very little here. I meant that you do not yet understand what has happened to you.”

Her words made me angry. “I understand perfectly well what happened to me,” I snarled at her. I clenched my teeth as the memories of my final moments, of agony and humiliation, of my own screams and the laughter of my tormentor, bubbled up in my mind, vivid and viscous as gouts of blood. “I  _ understand  _ that I am dead. I  _ understand  _ that I was murdered in my own home while my son hid, and my husband was away.” I gritted my teeth. “And I  _ understand  _ that even here, beyond the Sea, the Gods are deaf to my pleas.”

Perhaps I knew, on some level, that it wasn’t really a child I was speaking to. The Gods know, such words are not for young ears. Still, I could not but speak my mind.

Deora stood, brushed the sand from her clothes, and offered me her hand. I took it and she pulled me to my feet, and when I looked up at her again, the child was gone. In her place was a woman of indeterminate age, tall and statuesque, with iridescent scales and eyes the infinite blue-black of the deepest ocean. “Not at all,” She said gently.

I recognized Her instantly, and I stumbled back and fell to my knees, trembling. “Kalahira,” I whispered. “Forgive me. Have mercy on me.”

She smiled gently, and I felt it like a ray of sunlight in my heart. It made me want to laugh and to weep all at once. “You need not seek forgiveness for speaking your truth to Me, child,” She said softly. “Now, tell Me what it is you seek.”

“I want to see my husband,” I begged. “Please. Let me see Thane, just one last time.”

Kalahira’s smile faded, leaving a chill to settle in my gut. “I can do this for you,” She said, “but I urge you to consider your request. All here is as it is according to My design. I have cut off the realm of the dead from that of the living for a reason.”

I climbed unsteadily to my feet. “And what reason is that?” I asked before I could think about it. As soon as the words left my mouth, I gasped at my own impertinence. Who was I to question the Goddess Herself? Why should She explain Herself to me?

But She only laid Her hand on my shoulder, and said, “My child, eternity stretches before you. You need not concern yourself with those still bound by Time." She gently lifted my chin until I met Her eyes, and Her gaze was soft and motherly. "I know it sounds harsh. You still love your husband, and your son. You always will. But the dead must learn to let go, or you risk condemning yourself to an eternity of longing and misery."

"I understand," I said softly.

"Do you?"

I squared my shoulders and drew a deep breath, gathering my courage. "I do. But I still want to see him. Just once. I need…" I swallowed hard. "I need to know he's all right."

The expression on the Goddess's face should have given me pause. Disappointment, or pain, or pity, or some combination of all of them pinched Her brow, and Her eyes shimmered with what I could swear were tears. "You may not find the peace you seek in what you see."

"Please," I begged. "Show me."

And She did. Oh, Gods help me… She did.

I saw Kolyat, sullen and confused, lashing out at an aunt who only wanted to care for him. I saw his grief transmute to anger as he struggled to cope with the things he’d seen, the things he’d heard.

And I saw you. Oh, Thane, what have you done? What have you become?

I saw your pain turn to anger, too. But rather than futilely burning like Kolyat, you forged it into a weapon, a sword made of ice. And I saw you run.

I watched as you crisscrossed the galaxy, chasing after the men who’d murdered me. I saw you put every skill the hanar ever taught you to the ultimate test. I had a moment of hope when you befriended Drack—how ironic, that I could hope a krogan would hold you back!

No, not ironic. Tragic.

Thane, I saw everything you did in my name, everything that happened to you on your quest. I could only watch in horror as you… questioned… those batarians. And what you did to Stiv Kay… I won’t say he didn’t deserve it. But your eyes… I saw a light go out. Something in you froze over, hardened, died. The man I loved would never have… or would you? I don’t know which idea frightens me more—that you were always the kind of man who could torture someone… or that you were not. That you would become… this… for me.

I wept, for that was all I could do. I couldn’t speak to you, couldn’t help you, and finally I could not even look at you any longer. You’ve become a cold, brittle shell of who you once were, and it hurt too much to see.

Finally, Kalahira waved Her hand, and the visions mercifully stopped. She enfolded me in Her arms and held me until my tears ran dry. She said nothing.

Thane, I’m begging you, stop this. Do not tear your soul to shreds for my sake. Allow yourself to grieve, to heal.  _ Live.  _ Find love again. Find someone who can gather the pieces of your shattered heart and make you whole.

Do that for me.

Not this.

Not this.


End file.
